


What We Lost (For Good)

by PotterheadAvengerDemigod



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Feels, Avengers have screwed up pasts, Bad Pasts, Bruce Feels, Character Study, Clint Feels, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Loki Feels, Natasha Feels, Not really though, Short Chapters, Steve Feels, Team, Team Feels, Thor Feels, Tony Feels, actually more than a hug, basically everyone feels, because I always wanted to do a fic like that, kind of, kinda angsty, most of their childhood taken from comics, some comic stuff, team needs a hug, team's childhood, that's a fact, they need like a million hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:07:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotterheadAvengerDemigod/pseuds/PotterheadAvengerDemigod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.” ~Steve Rogers, Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natasha Romanov. Natalia Alianovna Romanova

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda angsty I guess? Some of the chapters are pretty abstract/vague, so yeah...  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Natasha has two lives.

Well, more precisely, she has one that's split cleanly in half.

There is Natasha, and then there is Natalia.

She doesn't define them any further than that. Clearer distinction is not worth the memories.

Her life branches out from those two categories, splits out into smaller, overall less important subcategories, like before S.H.I.E.L.D. and after S.H.I.E.L.D.

Well, maybe there's one category that isn't less important.

She fingers the silver arrow around her throat, smiling softly and almost imperceptibly.

There is but one branch that matters just as much, if not more than Natasha and Natalia.

That branch is before Clint and after.

The archer had changed her life, ripped out her rotten and decayed roots and gave her the chance to grow new ones.

She doesn't remember when she started to trust him, but she doesn't mind, because it's the best thing she's ever done.

Clint gives her a purpose in life, a way to hold onto all that she has now, all that she’s ever had.

She remembers the past, remembers, vaguely, a fire, in Stalingrad, the shatter of glass and a weightless flight through the air, remembers warm arms and a soothing voice. She remembers Ivan, remembers a few years of care and warmth, of flowing music and pointe shoes, a life of pale, soothing pastels, before everything goes blood red.

She remembers metal and guns and death, remembers pain, blood, _agony_. There is the pain of the Black Widow serum, the pain of training. She remembers, vaguely, a red star, a shining metallic arm pushing her to the very limits of her physical and mental abilities.

And although she can’t remember it, she knows they wiped her memories, brainwashed the emotion from her very soul, her very heart.

It’s been ages since she’d shown her emotions, even though she’d slowly regained the ability to feel over the years. But it’s getting easier, less of a conscious effort now.

But she’ll never forget the red, the blood on her hands, screams echoing in her ears and reverberating through her chest and body, pleas and cries and the crunch of bone and squelch of blood.

If there’s one thing Loki was ever right about, it’s her ledger. It’s dripping, it’s gushing red. She’s never going to get it out, no matter what she does.

But maybe it’s not about that anymore. Maybe she’s not an Avenger because she wants to compensate. Maybe she likes helping people, maybe she revels in the ability to fight for good, the chance to be _trusted_.

Maybe that’s all she’s ever needed.

Maybe, it’s all she ever wanted.


	2. Clint Barton. Clinton Francis Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint can't find his footing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly angsty. Screwed up family, be warned. A lot of Hawkeye comic canon in this one.

Clint can’t regain his footing.

Believe him, he’s tried. He’s an archer, a sharpshooter, _Hawkeye_ , and he has the steadiest hands of anybody in the world, even surgeons and medical specialists.

Well, maybe Bruce and Tony could match him for hand stability, but that’s not the point.

He has the surest steps and steadiest hands in the world, but he can’t get his footing. No, he can’t, not even the slightest. He likes to think that S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers have helped with that, and somedays they have, but it’s not a permanent thing.

He remembers the accident, the funeral where Barney stood with him, both staring at the twin caskets, eyes dry and unfeeling.

He remembers foster homes and orphanages, remembers being sick and tired of the other kids making fun of him and Barney.

He remembers running, running to the nearest escape, leaving behind a world of hate and foster care and living in the system.

He remembers the circus. He was happy, for a while, free, with Barney and his newfound friends, with his mentors Swordsman and Trick Shot.

But even that had to be snatched away.

His entire life crashed the moment he found Swordsman counting the money that he’d conned from the circus, and Swordsman offered him the chance to be in it.

He refused. He wasn’t that much of a douche to steal money from the very place that’d essentially raised him.

Of course, that had had its own horrible consequences. Namely Swordsman trying to kill him and leaving him for dead.

And Barney leaving.

Trick Shot’d stepped up then, training him and honing his skills more than they’d already been, and it was only a few months ‘til the man asked him on a criminal raid.

And he said yes.

He remembers shooting Barney, remembers the panic and the agony and pain. Remembers his own mentor shooting him.

He remembers Barney leaving. Again.

Clint remembers clearly, too clearly, the day he meets the new Trickshot. He remembers the day the new Trickshot had unmasked himself.

He remembers years of vigilantism, before he meets Coulson for the very first time, joins S.H.I.E.L.D.

And that is the day Clint will never, ever forget. It is the day he will never regret.

Because that is the day that changed his life forever.


	3. Bruce Banner. Robert Bruce Banner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's worst enemy is himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one again... But Bruce is pretty angsty, so prepare your tissues. (Just kidding actually, unless you're really emotional... or Bruce is your bae. In that case, you might need those tissues.)  
> Warnings: This chapter is (almost) completely comic and pretty vague, so feel free to Google or ask me what I meant.

Bruce’s worst enemy is himself.

He knows it, everyone knows it. For him, the battle is everlasting, and it stretches on with no end in sight.

The Other Guy is only one part of what he fights. He knows enough about the Other Guy that sometimes they can cooperate, can act as one, and that makes the situation somewhat bearable.

But majority of what he fights comes from his own mind, his dreams, his fears, his childhood.

He remembers broken glass, remembers curses and screams and complete terror coursing through his body. He remembers blood and abuse, remembers warm, safe arms around him, a shield from the world.

He remembers running, a flight for safety, a flight from the monster that had borne him. He remembers comforting arms and a soft voice shushing him as they run.

He remembers the monster grabbing on and not letting go, cries and screams and roars of fury and unadulterated anger and possessiveness.

The crack of bone on concrete, light fading from dying eyes.

His only haven, gone.

He remembers leaving, leaving the pain and the past.

Years fly by, blurry and monochrome, dark, unmemorable, _nothing_.

He remembers standing before stone, standing before words etched into stone, moss and ivy creeping across the weather-worn marker.

Head bowed in grief, white flowers placed before it.

And then the pain comes rushing back.

The shuffle of footsteps behind him, the crunch of dirt and gravel beneath his feet as he spins around.

His eyes meet the eyes of that monster, the one that he'd thought he was rid of for life.

Screams and yells deteriorate into fists and brute strength, and it ends with a single shove.

Bone snaps, cracks on protruding moss-covered, engraved stone, and the terror of his life is gone.

His first kill, the only one without the Other Guy, and the only one he'll never be sorry for.

He remembers after that, when he meets the Other Guy, the days, months, _years_ on the run, the exhaustion, the guilt.

The sickening fear and pain and bone-deep exhaustion that dogs him everyday, the want, the desire to just _stop_.

The sharp, sour, bright tang of metal on the day he gives in.

The spike of pain before everything goes green.

When Natasha calls him in, that's the day his life changes.

The day he finally meets someone who's not wary around him, not afraid and completely brazen. Someone who riles him up for _fun_ , who doesn't care about his problem.

And, he thinks, that's really all he(they) ever needed.

Someone to believe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up... Tony!


	4. Tony Stark. Anthony Edward Stark.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's biggest adversary is his own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has quite a lot of Tony angst, and alludes to child abuse and neglect (aka Howard Stark's A+ Parenting).  
> P.S. The offer stands, if anyone is confused you can drop me a line... My thought process tends to confuse people, ask my friends.

Tony’s biggest adversary is his own mind.

Now that he thinks about it, his mind is his greatest asset, but it also caused almost all of the problems he'd experienced.

On bad days, when his mind runs rampant and it's too awake, too active, insomniac, he can hear the voices.

 _Anthony_ , they call. _You're not good enough. Never good enough. Don't cry. Stark men don't cry. Stark men are made of steel. You're not worth it. Hopeless, useless brat. Nothing but a mistake._

Howard had never loved him, barely aware of his existence. Maria had barely blinked an eye at him, ignored when yelps of pain and sometimes sobs came echoing from the lab, when Tony emerged, beelining for his room, sometimes limping, sometimes bleeding, sometimes bruised and sobbing.

Social butterfly, yes. Good hostess, yes. Good wife, maybe. Good mother? Hell no.

But that was nothing.

Nothing compared to Howard. The neglect, the sometimes abuse, wine bottles and cutting words, scathing comments, yelling and roaring and pure anger and fury. Drunken rants (you're not worthy; not good enough; worse mistake I ever made), glass smashing on concrete ground, even that one incident with the soldering iron.

He still has the scars.

But he can’t stop wanting to make Howard proud. He wants to measure up, to be something in the man’s eyes, instead of just _that boy who’s related to me by blood but is a disgrace to the Stark name and I hate him and he’s not worthy and he’s just a mistake._

He wants to be Steven Grant Rogers, he wants to be Howard’s greatest creation, wants Howard’s affection, his pride, his acknowledgement.

He wants Howard’s love.

He's an eccentric genius, yeah, and they're all supposed to have their quirks, right?

So he doesn't like to be handed things.

He doesn't like their reactions to the scars, the burns. And he doesn't like the vulnerability that he feels when he reaches out, hands unprotected, to take something.

Because that leaves him open and unguarded, easy to injure, oh, so _easy_.

That's not the only thing about him.

He usually sleeps on his stomach, or on his side, curled into a fetal position.

Never on his back.

The softest of sounds wakes him, and he never takes off his locator bracelets now. He's done about the best he can to keep them on his body short of fusing them to his skin, and he's more against body modification than just about anything else.

The Arc Reactor is enough.

He tries not to get his face underwater, at least not for long periods of time, or without the suit.

But all these quirks, these little things that make up Tony Stark, all stem from one thing.

His mind.

And he wouldn't be Tony Stark without it.

But he'll never give up his mind for anything. It's his greatest asset, his crowning glory, his very essence. He's _nothing_ without it.

He wouldn't have the suit, wouldn't have Stark Industries, wouldn't have the Tower. Wouldn't have met Yinsen.

And by default, wouldn't have Pepper and Rhodey and Happy.

Wouldn't have the Avengers.

Hell, he wouldn't even have S.H.I.E.L.D.

So yeah, his mind is everything to him.

Even though it was his mind that made Howard hate him, his mind that made Maria distant, unable to keep up with her genius son, his mind that drove away all the people he knew, his mind that kept him segregated from the other kids in MIT.

His mind that got him captured and held in Afghanistan.

His mind that created weapons of mass destruction. His mind that earned him the title Merchant of Death.

But all these made him stronger, made him who he is today, let him meet all those amazing people who now make up his life, who he would be nothing without, rotting away in his own lab, alcohol racing through his veins and the blood of innocents on his hands.

If he didn't have Pepper, didn't have Rhodey, didn't have Happy, didn't have the Avengers, well, he didn't like to think of the end results.

But think of them he did, and he knew he'd probably be dying in a hospital bed hooked up to a dialysis machine after getting his stomach pumped, or he'd be lying in his lab, unnoticed and uncared for, face down, where he'd probably drown to death in a puddle of his own vomit.

Or maybe he'd die of liver or kidney failure, but never mind the semantics.

The bottom line is, he's nothing without his friends, his family, and by affiliation, nothing without his mind.

And yes, he's weird and eccentric and strange, incomprehensible, both beloved and hated by the world, but his life turned out okay. More than okay.

And he's happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Steve!


	5. Steve Rogers. Steven Grant Rogers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's past will never really go away.

 Steve’s past will never really go away.

He maybe has the best childhood of all the Avengers, minus Thor, but he's far from being without suffering, without hardship.

He remembers the time when he was happy, when his dad was still alive and he'd play with Steve during the days, the two of them, in the room reading, drawing, having fun while his mum was out in the bathroom doing laundry, or at the windows hanging out the wet clothes. He remembers the time when they were happy, just the three of them, a family, even if Mam had to take care of two invalids, because Pa had used to be strong and healthy, but then he got hit by mustard gas in the Great War.

But that was fine, because both his parents had good, steady jobs, his Pa an office job that didn't require much of his shredded lungs, and his Mam a washerwoman.

But then the Depression hit, and the stocks crashed, Wall Street crashed, money became a luxury and his Pa was retrenched, his Mam couldn't find a steady job. His Pa was forced to do heavy lifting manual labour which further destroyed his already compromised lungs, and he'd passed, not long after, and then Steve and his Mam were left to fend for themselves, one weak and sickly and basically helpless, the other weary and working triple -quadruple- jobs to make ends meet.

And sure, yeah, his life still isn't that bad, he's able to do a few art pieces, some commissions here and there that help bring in some money to the dining table.

And he has Bucky.

But then everything goes wrong.

First his Mam dies, then Mrs. Barnes passes, then he and Bucky are sent to the orphanage, and for the slightest amount of time he’s somewhat happy, after he gets over the grief and loss. He gets to hang out with Bucky, gets to go to art school, and he’s allowed to sketch and draw and read anytime he wants. So he’s happy, for a while.

When the war happens, he and Buck have been out of the orphanage for more than a couple of years already, and they have barely enough money to tide them through, but they’re not alone, at least. They have each other.

Then Bucky enlists, and Steve tries to follow, but of course, he’s rejected, 4F stamped on his enlistment. But still he tries. Again and again and again.

Finally, he gets in, under Erskine’s recommendation, and then the change. He rescues Buck and makes a name for himself, him and the Howling Commandoes, and he makes a family out of them, friends, brothers, warriors.

And Peggy, of course. Beautiful, headstrong, stubborn Peggy. He’s never loved someone as much as he’d loved her, and he’d always thought that after the war, he’d woo her properly, they’d settle down together, and they’d have their happily ever.

They’d live in a nice house on their pensions with their kids and Bucky’d be that weird, ridiculous uncle that the kids loved and the parents pretended to hate.

But, of course, things don’t go that way. They never do.

He remembers snow, white capped mountains, a train along the rails, along the side of a snowy mountain. He remembers screams, remembers fighting and yelling, fingers, knuckles, white and clenched, scrabbling for purchase on smooth metal. Reaching forward, running full speed, fingers slipping away from him, out of his grasp, out of reach. (Hang on! Grab my hand!) _(Don’t let go)._

He remembers the plane, the Valkyrie, filled with bombs, remembers that last conversation. _(Gonna need a raincheck on that dance.)_

He remembers the ice, the cold, the water filling his lungs and freezing his extremities, sending his limbs tingling and numb, just before everything goes black.

Light floods back in, he opens his eyes.

He remembers running, running, running out into unfamiliar ground, all bright, colourful lights and loud noises. _(I had a date.)_

All this, and he’s never going to forget it. No, it’s always in the back of his mind, his past is always haunting him, a string of memory that will never go away, people who stood for him, believed in him, made him the man he is today.

The memories hurt, burning and clawing at his chest on bad days, and sometimes they’re all he can think about, blood and fighting and screams and war. The feeling that he doesn’t belong, that he’ll never belong.

That he _can’t_ belong.

He just wants people to see him for him. He wants to be seen, to be known as _Steve_. Not Captain America.

He's just a kid from Brooklyn, after all. Steve Rogers, the scrawny, undersized, sickly little boy, pale skinned and blue eyed, small, weak.

He needs to be treated as Steve, not some overrated superhero who can kill a man with a single punch.

But he can't seem to go anywhere without people pointing and going "Captain America! Guys, it's _Captain America_!" He can't even go to S.H.I.E.L.D. without the pointing and whispering.

Just once, _once_ , he wants to be just Steve. Not Captain America, not Captain Rogers, just _Steve_.

He doesn't think that'll ever happen, though.

But, as always, he’s never right.

Because not only does he find that he can, in fact, belong in this new century, can find people who are friends, he also manages to make a life out of it, build himself a new family, and there’s a difference between surviving and living.

And he’s _living_.


	6. Thor, Protector of Midgard. Thor Odinson, Golden Prince.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor's many titles weigh on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Here's Thor! Enjoy! :)

Thor’s many titles weigh on him.

Before Midgard, he knows he was brash, and arrogant, not yet mature, not yet fit to rule. He'd had little, if any, care for the people. He was violent, bloodlusting, with eyes only for the battlefield, only for honour, for glory.

It was no wonder that Loki had always been the better liked among the peoples.

Loki, with his magic and his talent, his charm and his wit, would have made a better ruler than him. (Somedays he wondered how he had ever wielded Mjolnir in the past.)

But now Loki was gone, lost to Asgard, lost to the world, and he would give up the throne a million times, give up all there was to give, if it could bring his brother back.

He's not blind (at least, now he isn't), Midgard had changed him, Jane had changed him, and he knows how wrong he was, how greatly he had slighted his brother.

But it's too late.

It's too late to change anything.

He remembers those days, so many millennia ago, when he and Loki were but boys, running carefree through the palace grounds, amusing themselves with pranks and mischief, more often than not greatly aided by Loki's seiđr.

They had been closer than anything, more than brothers; they had been the best of friends.

Sometimes he wonders how they drifted so far.

He knows, of all his Midgardian comrades, he has the best childhood of all, favoured and royal, never a thing he didn't want.

Growing up as crown prince of the Realm Eternal had its perks.

So much so that he had never realised what agony Loki had gone through, how the Trickster lived in the shadows, beneath his lies and his illusions, hidden in the dark and forever trapped in Asgard's shadow.

Sometimes he sees Midgardian things, draws parallels to different Asgardian objects and places, sees Midgardian people and draws parallels to the different Aesir.

In fact, the Man of Iron reminds him of Loki, in so many ways that it is eerie, except that the Man of Iron chose the path of change and adaptability, while his brother chose the path of revenge. Both Friend Tony and Loki have so much in common, both have the same overwhelming intelligence, the same quick tongue, the same broken past.

And somedays he wonders if Loki could have been an Avenger, like him, like Friend Tony, like all the other honourable, just and upright people that make up this band of warriors. Broken, shattered, in their own special little ways, but pushing past that to help, to give and not take, to protect and defend. He remembers how the Man of Iron had described their little group (because if we can’t protect the Earth, you can be damn well sure we’ll avenge it), and he wonders if they all really needed that, if that’s all that’s really what they wanted. Something to avenge, something to protect, something to tell them that they aren’t obsolete, aren’t useless and broken and better off dead.

Loki _could_ have been one of them. He believes this.

He _knows_ this. Loki could have been an Avenger. And a spectacular one at that.

Loki would have been a good hero, a wonderful hero. Powerful, strong, talented, intelligent beyond measure. But Thor knows why he turned to the darkness. Has always, somehow, subconsciously known.

It's because of him. Because of Odin, because of Sif, because of the Warriors Three.

Because of Asgard. His home. (You stop this madness. You come home. _I don't have it._ )

But knowing Loki, calling him brother, growing up with him, fighting him, sparring with him, doing _everything_ with him (when they were younger), that's changed Thor, helped him, and he knows he wouldn't be the man he is today without Loki.

None in Asgard would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this had a lot more Loki than planned, but eh. I love Loki, sorry not sorry... XD

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Steve quote as well as the Wicked song For Good. It's actually a really good song...


End file.
